


Opening Statements

by primeideal



Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Alien Technology, Book 35: The Proposal, F/M, Kissing, Yuletide 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-06 22:54:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5433863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primeideal/pseuds/primeideal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They weren't ever going to have the most straightforward "meet the parents" introductions, but sometimes things work out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Opening Statements

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Linsky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linsky/gifts).



> Thanks to woggy for looking this over!
> 
> The first scene is Book 35; the second takes place a few months after #40. This might distort the timeline a little but since most of the books are episodic I think it still makes sense to slot it in before #45 at some point.

My name is Tobias.

I can't tell you the last name that I used to have. That's because I'm an Animorph, one of Earth's last lines of defense against the Yeerk empire. Being an Animorph—having the power to become any animal, any person that I touch—has taken me places I could never have imagined. It brought me to my new home, a nest deep in the forest. To endless scouting missions flying over the city, taking in the roads and buildings from the air. To the hellish depths of the Yeerk pool. To destroying transport ships. To the deep waters of Leera and the gorges of the Hork-Bajir planet.

And I'd spent the night helping prepare for another place I hadn't expected.

A wedding.

Okay, so I hadn't scouted out emergency exits or done reconnaissance on potential enemies, but biting back questions as Rachel suggested an outfit I could use felt almost as stilted as acquiring another morph. And hesitating on her doorstep, I tried not to distract myself with questions—had Ax made it there all right, wouldn't we stand out, shouldn't I have brought a gift.

 _It's Peter and Nora's night,_ I told myself, _no one's going to be watching you, this is just so you can support Marco._ And possibly have an excuse to kiss Rachel that was better than having just endured a torture session.

Before I could brace myself any further, the door swung open, and I jumped backwards, glancing up. Instead of Rachel's features—her intense gaze, her curious smile—I instead saw her mother, Naomi.

“Good evening,” Naomi smiled. “You must be Tobias?”

Not an accusation, just—Rachel had made plans too, normal human plans. “Y-yeah,” I stammered. “Rachel still getting ready?”

“Wouldn't you know it.” She gave a quiet laugh. “Come in, sit down.”

I walked in, standing in the living room, alongside a mess of books that looked like they belonged to Rachel's little sisters. “I'm all right,” I said. “It—shouldn't be too long?”

“We can hope.” I must have tensed, because Naomi went on, “Can I get you something? Soda?”

“Water's fine,” I said. Ice water _was_ good, actually. I gulped down the first glass and didn't bother waving her off when she went back to get me a second. I was halfway through that when—finally—Rachel came down the stairs.

She _did_ look good. It was one thing to watch her go shopping, picking and sorting from an endless selection of racks. I hadn't known how she would triage her burgeoning closet, but she'd picked out a green dress with small, light blue earrings that caught the light even among the scattered clutter of the living room, and black shoes that accentuated her height.

“Hi,” I managed.

“Hey!” she beamed. “Oh, shoot, hold on—”

“What now?” I asked, as she bolted back upstairs.

“Beats me,” said Naomi, but moments later Rachel was bounding back—nice shoes and all—with a gift bag in her hand.

“I didn't get anything—” I began.

“It's from me,” Naomi interrupted, “they don't need much in the way of housewarming, it's fine.”

“Right, right,” I said.

Thankfully, we were able to head for the garage after that. “Want shotgun?” Naomi offered.

“We'll be fine in the backseat,” Rachel teased, and I snorted.

“Kids these days.” I got the feeling from their synchronized eye-roll this was something of a mutual in-joke, but Rachel and I climbed into the back. She set the bag on the floor between us, and buckled in.

Desperate to make conversation before Naomi could revert to type and start grilling me about—anything, really, I began, “So where are the girls?”

“Leapers—gymnastics practice,” said Naomi. “I should have time to pick them up before you get back.”

“We'll be fine,” Rachel said, and I wasn't sure who she was addressing. “How was work?”

“Oh, the usual.” And before I knew it I was hearing about madcap but everyday jurors, well-meant but anal-retentive judges, ambitious but overcaffeinated interns, and deep-pocketed but insufferable clients, or perhaps the other way around. She talked like Rachel flew—not always sure we were in her element, but never slowing down for a minute. I only blinked to take it in when I felt Rachel reach over to rub my back slightly. We'd paused at a stoplight, the bag sliding towards her feet at the previous turn.

“And have you known Nora long?” Naomi began.

“I—what?” I'd been expecting questions about my relationship with Rachel, my friendship with Marco and the others even, but...

“Oh, sorry, Mrs. Robinette to you. Are you in her class?”

Of course—Mrs. Robinette, the darling of the parent-teacher conferences! “Yeah. She's not bad, I—like her, she's sweet and she'll be great for Peter, I think. But I'm not too great at math.”

“Tobias is a great artist,” Rachel cut in, “he's more an electives guy.” It had been months, and she remembered?

“That's wonderful! You'll have to show me sometime.”

“Yeah,” I gulped, “when I get the chance. Between weddings and—Mrs. Robinette's math class it gets busy.”

“Wed _dings_?” Naomi echoed. “Just how many are you running off to?”

“Well, one at a time,” Rachel answered, before I could sputter something, “it's not polite to leave early after all.”

“I'm glad to see you've found _someone_ to learn some manners from.” Naomi tensed on the steering wheel, changing lanes.

“I wouldn't say that...” I said.

“Relax,” said Rachel. “It's her way of saying hi.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“You're fine.”

I glanced at my half-faded reflection in the car window, looking for an echo of advice to Ax, trying to imagine what anyone else would do. “Any really good embarrassing stories you can quote? Usually it's our friend Cassie who always knows what Rachel was like when she was little, but of course, she's too nice to tease her about it.”

“Well—Cassie would not have been there for this one,” Naomi began, “but Rachel once wandered into the wrong bathroom at a ballgame...”

“Mom! I did not!” said Rachel.

“You were little, honey, nobody minded—”

“No, no, you weren't even there, I was with Dad. And I was stuck behind the _popcorn_ stand—”

“Are you sure?”

“ _Yes_!”

“If you say so,” said Naomi, then turned over to me and winked. “Unreliable witnesses.”

I laughed. “And yet, sometimes they're the best things we have going for us.”

“Wouldn't have it any other way.”

“Oh yes you would,” Rachel protested, “how many times do you come home complaining that some unreasonable jurors expect there to be smoking guns—”

“Other way around, more like, they don't recognize the importance of circumstantial evidence.”

“Now she's gotten started again, too late...”

“...although in this day and age it's probably more likely some advanced discoveries with DNA.”

Rachel and I exchanged a look.

In the rearview mirror, Naomi raised an eyebrow. “What? You think I didn't see that?”

“What do you mean?” Rachel immediately asked. I glanced over at the door. There was no _way_ she could suspect...

“You don't have to explain the joke. You'll find it hard to believe, but when I was your age I had in-jokes too.”

I forced a laugh. “Oh, I can believe that.”

And the rest of the ride passed without incident. Granted, most of my car rides these days were on Animorphs business, so I might have had abnormal expectations for mailboxes destroyed, Hork-Bajir evaded, and municipal laws disregarded per trip. Still, we pulled up to the curb, and Rachel climbed out, grabbed the gift bag, and waved goodbye to her mom like it was no big deal.

“Cassie's parents will drop us off,” I confirmed, “don't worry about coming to pick us up—”

“It's fine, it's fine.”

“Look, thank you so much, I really appreciate the ride,” I began.

I couldn't thank her for letting me date Rachel, couldn't make ridiculous promises of chivalry or potential. And it wasn't because I had more than enough secrets to keep. It wasn't because we couldn't promise each other we'd make it through any given day. It wasn't just because I had nothing to my name—not even a human face to call my own for more than brief bursts—even though all of that was true.

It was also because, no matter what, Rachel would have been no one's to pass off—not her parents' and not her partner's. Whether poised on the curb, her green dress thrown into shadow by the car, or roaring into battle deep underground, she was indomitable, and next to her power, any attempt at permission or pledges were a silent joke.

And perhaps Naomi's smile in response meant that she knew, if not the worst of Rachel's inner self, the parts that came from her were beyond taming and would have been just the same, war or no war. “Of course you're welcome. It was a pleasure to meet you, and give my best to Peter and Nora.”

“We will, we will,” said Rachel. “Love you!”

We hustled inside, and I scurried to find a bathroom, demorphing and remorphing just to be safe. I was very pleased to find that Ax was there, had reset his morphing clock as well, and was adequately dressed for the occasion.

Taking my seat, I found myself facing forward, our visions confined to a narrow strip of space in the front of the room. My expectations of weddings were from picture books more dated than the Star Trek re-runs I'd once seen, and part of me had been imagining that I'd see everything in all directions: people moving up and down aisles, chorusing in the front rows, streaming and kissing and pushing towards cars and new beginnings.

But that wasn't the kind of ceremony Peter and Nora wanted to splurge on. One thing happened at a time, and sometimes less than that as we observed grateful silences. They revered each other, Marco looking on in his tux. I watched Marco, as he stood by Peter through every line—but Marco was staring out at us, his family and friends, who'd come to be with him. Maybe not even he saw his father and mother-in-law in love, not even on their wedding day.

Even Rachel was sniffling—at the falsehood underlying these promises? Or the vagaries that threatened to rip apart any vows, no matter how mundane? _Tears of joy,_ she hissed later, _at the image of Marco in a tux; I need to remember that._

And then the papers were signed, the t's crossed and i's dotted, the last names, as usual, obscured—Peter and Nora were married, and if anyone wanted to complicate that, well, I wasn't going to interfere. I was a loophole too many times over to interfere. Besides, we'd all long since earned the right to party.

Ax had joined Rachel, Cassie, and me; I recognized several of the well-wishers as Nora's fellow teachers, and Marco was mingling with distant extended family. And behind them, on their way to get food—

“Rachel?” I asked.

“Yeah?”

“Jake's here? With his whole family?”

“Sure.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why? Marco and Jake have known each other forever, of course they'd all be here for Peter—”

“Tom's here!” I tried to back away from the crowd, stepping out of the path of a tall woman with a camera as Rachel followed. “The—there were _some people_ who met with me when _Aria_ was interested in my case. What if he recognizes me?”

“Did Tom meet with you at any point during that time?”

“No, but—”

“Then he's not going to recognize you.” She looked around, checking that nobody was nearby, before going on, “It sounds harsh, but they could have—captured you—then.” _And sooner_ , we both knew, but she continued. “And they chose not to. And if they don't know what your strength looks like—that's just their loss, and our gain. _Earth's_ gain. Tom's got his own loser agenda, yeah, but I'm not going to let that stop us from being together—here or anywhere.”

And for some reason, be it the fact that checking the perimeter was something we did on autopilot, or that the room was all but empty and the guests already dispersing to get food, I was able to lean in and kiss her there. Rachel took it in stride, of course—when didn't she—but she was grinning when I pulled away.

“You have to dance with me, too,” she said.

“Yeah, yeah. Once I make sure Ax hasn't destroyed the buffet.”

She nodded. “Pit stop first?”

Grateful that she wanted to give me more warning rather than less—I wasn't in the mood for disagreeing—I hurried to the bathroom to reset my morphing clock and then confirmed that, to everyone's satisfaction, Ax had not destroyed the buffet and was instead doing his best imitation of a human who cared about the scientific advances of Peter's former coworkers.

Actually, I found the buffet almost as tempting as Ax usually did. Despite the fact that I knew my morphing ability was necessary to the fight, the human capacity to enjoy as much food as one could ask for, prepared for them, was nothing to take for granted. I experimented with a palette of cheeses, dismantling them from the pyramidal assortments available on the tray.

“Well?” I asked Marco, when I had the chance to flag him down.

“I dunno,” he said. “It's different.”

“Where's Euclid?”

“Getting petsit. Which will probably be my responsibility when the newlyweds need a date night. Don't remind me,” he rolled his eyes.

“Sorry.”

“Although,” Rachel pointed out, “you could probably show him how annoying he really is, if you know what I mean.”

“I think he's too dumb for it to sink in—although I'll consider it.”

“Anything for you, Mr. Best Man Sir.”

“You can call me Bond,” he said, showing off his vest again.

I laughed. “Rachel, may we dance, or are Marco's one-liners going to charm you?”

“No risk of that, but yes, we can dance!”

“Took you long enough,” Marco said, before trekking off to see if he could pull rank and dance with Nora's sister, who'd been the maid of honor.

“I hope you know what you're doing,” I muttered, as Rachel held me closer.

“Do I ever?” she asked.

For a while I didn't need to answer. The music buzzed on, as unfamiliar to me as most of the stuff I remembered from school radio, and I tried to follow the beat.

In terms of human morph instincts, dancing doesn't make the top ten. It's nowhere near eating or crying or fighting or running away. But—especially caught up in the motion of someone as athletic and fearless as Rachel—it can be pretty fun.

I exhaled more deeply when I caught sight of Tom across the room, clearly not looking at us at all. He was, instead, watching Jake and Cassie stepping lightly through a crowd, feigning an expression of _when did my little brother get so big_? As well wonder when any of us had grown into bodies large enough to fight—maybe only Ax and I could pinpoint moments, and didn't want to. But none of it held any humans back from growing, changing, apart and together, and it couldn't stop us, either.

“Looking good,” Cassie called as we passed.

“You too!” Rachel said back. And they did. Of course, both Jake and Cassie probably accomplished looking great in a fraction of the time it took Rachel and I to find outfits, transportation, and a plausible introduction for Naomi's sake.

It was Ax who interrupted us in the middle of a song, I couldn't say which—some repetitive, empty refrain—batting at my arm in a panic. “Tobias—Tobias, please-zuh, you mu-must go.”

Trust us not to be able to enjoy _any_ night out without it being ruined by some kind of interruption. I felt bad for Peter and Nora, but immediately began scanning the room for threats. “What is it?” Rachel interrupted, “what's wrong?”

“Nothing, only—Tobias needs—to attend to the bathroom. Roo-muh.”

“Oh no! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, how much—”

“It's all right,” I said with false confidence, “I'll be right back.”

Sprinting past an empty coatroom, that would have been a great place to remorph had it not been for the risk that math teachers with early bedtimes could have dodged in any minute, I threw myself into a bathroom and hastily remorphed. “Six minutes,” Ax panted, running behind me.

“Isssalrright,” I muttered as my human teeth came back together. “You did fine, it's okay.”

“You looked very enthusiastic. And meanwhile, whiiiiiiul, I was learning about the mer-air!-its of poke-oke-poker.”

I wasn't sure whether stalk eyes would be an advantage in poker faces, although I was a little afraid this was the kind of thing Marco would be only too happy to experiment on and find out. But I was ready to return to the dance floor. Before Rachel could worry, I pulled her back into a hug. “I'm all right,” I said. “Don't worry.”

We danced to something else, equally forgettable, and when it was over neither of us went out of our way to initiate a kiss—it just rose up between us. Maybe, I thought, we were on our way to something more like what Jake and Cassie had, where someday every kiss wouldn't have to be a matter of keeping count, of who was brave or who lived through what when for how long. Not a matter of records, just something that came and went between us.

It would be easier, the more there were of them, the more they blurred together. So I kissed her again.

“This was a good night,” she decided, eventually. We'd found an alley to demorph in, and she was going to stow Ax' and my nice clothes, before bringing them back to the scoop for whenever we needed them next.

<If only for the image of Marco in a tux?> I asked.

“I mean, that _too_.”

<Thank you for helping us borrow human clothing,> said Ax.

“My pleasure.”

<Thanks for the night, Rachel, it was great,> I said. <And—tell your mom, thanks again for the ride?>

“Of course.”

<Till next time?>

“Till then.”

And we scattered into the night. Beyond us, Peter and Nora were making their way into something new, together.

* * *

There _were_ more kisses after that. More of everything, really—between us and around us, missions and  mistakes, allies and enemies. We fought battles together, and in between went walking or flying for hours at a time.

I hadn't run into Naomi since that night. Most of Rachel's and my dates came before or after Animorphs business, and it was usually easier for her to mention it as “hanging out with Cassie” or something. Even if her sisters teased her about having a date, it wasn't the sort of thing I really needed to put in an appearance for. I didn't mind—we had each other, and some days that was all I could ask for.

As far as I could tell, Peter and Nora were doing as well as could be expected, too. But a few months after our encounter at the trainyard, Marco seemed closed-off at one of our meetings, distracted. “Everything all right?” Cassie asked, as we were winding down.

“I think so, yeah.”

“No word from Erek or anything?”

“From—Erek? No! No, definitely not,” he squirmed.

<If there is any way we may be of assistance, please let us know,> said Ax.

“It's nothing—like—Yeerk-related,” said Marco. “Just...personal stuff.”

“Like with your folks?” said Rachel.

“No.” He looked around at all of us, curious for whatever scrap of news we could muster up these days that wasn't related to Yeerks, before sighing. “Look, okay, I—could probably use all your help with this  anyway. Just don't make it weird, okay?”

<Weird?> Ax repeated.

“Yeah, Ax, weird. My planet, my rules.”

“Marco's rules?” Rachel echoed. “Bring it on.”

Marco nodded. “So, I've—been keeping in touch with Mertil, you remember.”

Of course. We hadn't heard anything from the distinguished but disabled fighter pilot, nor his friend Gafinilan, since rescuing Mertil from the Yeerks, but that wasn't to say Marco couldn't have followed up. <What's new?> I asked.

“He's hanging in there. Been trying to do more of his own gardening and tinkering with computers for fun—Andalite stuff—and fending for himself pretty well. If his confidence holds, I think he's going to be okay.”

<Good for him,> I said, eying Ax.

Cassie nodded. “And Gafinilan?”

“He's in much worse shape from the _Soola's_ Disease, unfortunately, and they don't think he's got a lot of time left. They try to manage his pain, but his vision in his stalk eyes is almost completely gone, and his main eyes aren't great either.”

“And he still won't morph to some other body?” Rachel protested. “I mean, this war isn't ending any time soon—it's not like he's missing out on some great tailfighting competition back home.”

<Do not make light of our traditions. For Gafinilan this would be debasing himself,> said Ax.

“Oh come on, like the morphing power has been around for a fraction of your great Andalite history—”

<Hey,> I interrupted, <Marco had something to say?>

“This is exactly why we can't have nice things,” Marco muttered.

“It sounds like they have their own situation under as much control as they can ask for,” Cassie pointed out. “Is there anything we can do?”

“Good question. See, Mertil doesn't really get out much, and it's harder for Gafinilan to move around these days than before—even in his 'Henry' morph, it's a risk. So they have all they need for the medium term.”

<There's a 'but' coming,> I guessed. <There's always a 'but.'>

“That's my line.”

<My bad.>

“There's an Andalite tradition—okay, newer tradition that's usually technologically-enabled,” he added, with a glance at Rachel, “that when near death, people try to record their significant memories. Gafinilan realized he wasn't going to have the Dome ship computers to do that the standard way, and he'd made his peace with that. But playing around on some sensors he'd rigged up, Mertil seems to think there's some piece of advanced Andalite-standard technology, capable of recording these—that's located nearby. He doesn't _think_ it's in the Yeerk-pool area, but I don't know if it's in the Chee system or what. Ax, have you been rigging anything up?”

<I know the tradition you are referring to, but I have not done so, no. Conceivably something like that _could_ be replicated with Earth instruments, but...acquiring those is perhaps not the best choice for Mertil and Gafinilan in their condition, > said Ax, in what passed for diplomatically.

“I figured, yeah. So, I copied down the coordinates from Mertil. I'm not really sure what this corresponds to, but if I can figure out where it's supposed to be, I thought I'd investigate and see if it was safe to retrieve—whatever it is.”

“Are _you_ actually asking us to join you on some crazy mission we don't know the details of?” Rachel gaped. “Is that what's happening?”

“I'm in,” I said. I figured that would be enough to make sure Ax came along and helped, without too much more backtalk about Mertil. More to the point, I was curious about a secret cache of Andalite technology too.

“Now you're taking _my_ line,” Rachel said. “But that's fine. I'm in, too.”

Jake, Cassie, and Ax exchanged glances, and didn't need to speak; we were all in, of course.

A few days later, we reconvened to find that Ax had been able to translate the coordinates. <This location appears to be buried below the surface, but probably not as far down as the Pemalite crystal. However, I can't tell whether it's in a developed area—it may be difficult to dig for directly.>

“We're not talking, you know, Time Matrix kind of stuff either?” said Cassie. “If it's underground technology...”

<I don't think so.>

“Let's see,” said Jake.

“Hold on,” said Marco, glancing up from a map. “I think this is by the school.”

<By the Yeerk pool entrance?> I asked.

“Could be. Or could be some kid's science project. Who needs baking soda and volcanoes when you have 4D military history?”

“Bird morphs,” said Jake, “be careful.”

We staggered our departures, so we wouldn't be seen all at once, forming a suspicious menagerie. Rachel and I got to fly together, tracing out her daily commute in a few exhilarating minutes. There were twitches of movement below us, and not just food: cars sputtering in every direction, free humans and Controllers going about their business.

<This the place?> Marco called, already swooping over the school.

<I believe we want to go northeast,> Ax suggested.

<Northeast?>

<This way.> From behind, Cassie angled away from the building. <Towards these woods.>

We hovered at the edge of a small forest, nothing like the one behind Cassie's barn that I now called home, but still respectable. Marco had dived low and was gliding over some brush. <It could be anywhere in here.>

<But we would be able to dig here more readily than under the buildings,> Ax said.

<There's a _Yeerk pool_ under some of those, that's not saying much, > said Rachel.

I followed Marco in, turning slowly to get my bearings. My vision was far better than human, of course, but I wasn't used to picking out a trail at eye level. <You all came here before—like, as kids, right?>

<Sure,> said Rachel.

<Is this a place of great importance?> Ax wondered.

<Not really. But we all cut through going and coming from school.>

<Yeah,> said Marco, <us and our shortcuts.>

 _The memories of the dying_...It was a stupid idea, I knew, but I had to be sure.  <Is anyone around?> I asked. <Can I demorph?>

<Go for it.>

I landed in the dust of the trail and rose to my human height moments later, a few thin clothes the only layers that accompanied me. “Er—you guys don't need to follow, there's just—something I want to check.”

I really _had_ been there before. That much I felt confident of, walking down the path, even without the _utzum_. We'd put on a school play, I'd overheard some kids talking about their dads showing up and gotten jealous, gone walking through the forest—but that was it. No digging, just wound up back at my uncle's like any other night. But in the fever-dream, at the end of the trail, there was something...

“Sorry,” I said, turning to face the others, who were slowly gliding behind me, jumping from tree to tree. “I know it's weird, it's just—easier—this way, you can go ahead if it's faster.”

<We're fine,> said Rachel. <Ax?>

<We have been in morph for fifty-one minutes.>

<Plenty of time. Go for it.>

Nodding, I paced ahead until I reached the clearing. Was I looking for a blade, for a piece of hardware? There was nothing protruding out.

“Never mind,” I said. The others had spread out, with more space to spread their borrowed wings.

<What do you mean never mind?> said Marco. <Whatever we're looking for is underground, right?>

<Here is as likely a location as any,> said Ax.

“Yeah, but...”

<We know how to dig,> said Rachel. <We know how to _morph_ , too. Mole, maybe? Would be pretty efficient?>

<More efficient here than before,> said Jake. <We can all go at once.>

<Well, maybe we should morph one at a time. The instincts can be a little overwhelming at first,> Cassie remembered.

“I just don't want this to be a waste.”

<I say we try here,> Rachel said. <Just for an hour or so, and if it doesn't work, we're no worse off than we are now.>

<Works for me,> said Jake. <I can keep watch.>

We demorphed, and the clearing looked—if clearer—bigger. Where would we begin? I concentrated on the mole DNA that made up some inconsequential, half-remembered part of me, and shrunk lower to the ground.

Time to dig! There was so much beneath the earth, living and calling and holding warm secrets, gateways to homes full of potential, if I could just reach for it. If I could push aside everything that came between me and—yes, there, block out the monsters that swooped and clawed through the sky, rooting deeper until—

<Tobias?>

<Rachel!> I broke off, trudging in a new-formed hole. Mounds of dirt of my own making spilled off to the side, giving me no clearer idea how to proceed.

<You okay? This morph can be a little overwhelming...>

<Oh, as if you weren't worse the first time,> said Cassie.

<I'm all right. Thanks. Should we spread out, or work from the same place?>

<I think we may need to spread out,> said Ax. <Rather than risk getting in each other's way.>

“Sounds good,” came Jake's voice from far above. “Can you hear me all right?”

<Yes,> said Marco, <you're not _that_ tall. >

I turned back to the digging, my mole brain still craving the security that came from pushing deeper and deeper into the ground, but this time more conscious of my friends working alongside me. There was no word from Jake, so I could only assume we were making good time and nobody's instincts had gotten out of control. Just each of us making our own little niches, scooping up dirt and burrowing under the forest.

<Whoa, I think I got something! Something different, at least. It doesn't seem edible.> That was Rachel.

< _That's_ your priority right now? Mole snacks? > Marco, of course.

“Let's see,” Jake paced over. “Oh, this is definitely something, all right. Ax, come take a look.”

I crawled back to the surface, following the call of my friends' voices; the others were emerging, drawn to Jake's shadow. We demorphed and Ax reached for an irregular metal box, perhaps the size of a couple radios welded together, experimentally dusting it off and tapping at it. <Old human hard drives, yes. _Perhaps_ capable, but... >

“Let Marco take it back to Mertil, see if it's still useful,” said Rachel.

I thought-spoke at her in private. <Is there any way we can look through it first?> She glanced over at Ax, with a _maybe not_ expression, and I conceded  <Okay.>

She'd been right the first time—we were no worse off than we were before, and somehow, impossibly, the _utzum_ had known something. Still, it was almost galling to be so close, to have trekked down a piece of the past without any Yeerks chasing us, and personally walk away empty-handed.

Because I did walk, with Rachel, walk back through the forest. When she heard that yes, I'd been in the school play, put on a cheap paper mask like everyone else, she wasn't about to let me live it down.

A few days later, when we met up again, Marco bore a sleek disk, a little larger than a CD, in place of the unwieldy box. “I did check with Mertil, and this worked out for what Gafinilan wanted.”

<How's he doing?> I asked.

“About the same—and too proud to let me stay for very long. But Mertil sent this. It's a copy of what they were able to piece together from the archives. There's—there's a lot from the _GalaxyTree_.”

That had been the Andalite Dome ship. <How do we access it?>

“You just have to thought-speak at it, tell the—the computer to start opening files.”

“At the CD?” asked Rachel.

“At whatever it is, yeah.”

Ax took the disk, testing it in his hands. <This is impressively crafted.>

“Yeah, well, Mertil's been busy.”

<He has long since placed himself outside our authority of the Electorate and the military. I—have not. But under your command, Prince Jake, I see nothing to prevent me from sharing these files with all of you. Only—if Elfangor's is there—>

“Oh, for—” Jake rolled his eyes. “ _Yes_ , you and Tobias can look at it first.”

Looking silently at the disk, Ax hesitated—thought-speaking, maybe? Then turned to me. <There's a lot here.>

For obvious reasons, we had to keep the disk out in the scoop—we couldn't risk passing it off in the human world. But it became another excuse for the others to visit and watch, in flickers, flashes of the memories that the warriors of the _GalaxyTree_ had shared.

Much of it, despite Ax's sentiments, seemed uninteresting to the others. Not always because it was something too personal to tread upon, but because we were all different people with our own battles and our own achievements. Some Andalites still exulted in the memory of their first _kafit_ morph as an _aristh_ , one of three whole bird species on the planet. After seeing a tiny fraction of all Earth had to offer, it was a strange thing to get worked up about.

And in spite of ourselves, we hoped against hope for advice—that War-Prince Nerefir would have distilled down his learned wisdom into a final statement of strategy. That after disappointment after disappointment, there would be some miraculous battle plan for Earth. Of course, there was no such thing.

Yet long after Ax and I had first scoured the tape for every scrap of thought Elfangor had left behind—his childhood on the homeworld, playing driftball with neighbors in the shadow of the Guide Trees; his forgotten years on Earth, cobbling together the storage device himself half-unsure whether it would work from within the confines of a morph but needing _something_ to keep himself occupied in physics class; his return to infamy in deep space, earning epithets and accolades from both sides of an endless war as he struggled to fight the best he knew—Rachel still came by to revisit the memories. Technically, she didn't have to morph eagle to be able to instruct the computer what to replay, I was able to control the thought-speech myself, but she liked to anyway. It was something we could share from the treetops, or even wheeling and soaring as it flickered in and out of range.

<You can come along,> I offered to Ax at first, <he's your _brother_ , I don't want to take this away from you—>

<I can access these on my own time,> he gave an eye-smile, <and this appears to be an enjoyable ritual for the two of you. Perhaps imbued with even more meaning than my constant attention to _These Messages_ , although not as novel.>

It really was a hobby, the way some other couples went to the movies or to nice restaurants. Cheap, but a lot more fun then fighting for our _own_ lives. From a perspective of decades away, even Taxxon innards could be new and exciting.

<Computer, pause,> said Rachel, and the tape temporarily fell silent. There were a lot that we seemed to hear as transcriptions, as opposed to Nerefir and the others, which were more images—they'd never spent time on a planet that wrote things down word for word all the time. <Did you hear that? They had to morph _Taxxon_ , and overcome those instincts to feed...>

<Sounds awful.>

<And then El-your dad just loses his friends in the crowd, right? The instincts are almost too much, but he—he fights them back, and he comes to himself, and runs away. _That's_ what draws the Visser to him. >

<The Sub-okay, right...>

<That he didn't let that darkness take him over. Even then, in the middle of the war, he was strong enough...>

<He'd hadn't seen much, then.>

<Neither had most _arisths_. >

<Fine. Can we agree he was someone special, even then? Because he was, and I can see it in you.>

It was probably for the best hawks couldn't blush. <Computer, start tape.>

<Tobias!>

<What am I supposed to say? Sure, we agree? Please don't use any resemblance as an excuse to flirt with Ax?>

<Sounds like a deal.>

And sometimes, too, there were more walks as humans in the forest by the school. Once the molehills had gone back to normal, I found it was a nice enough place to hang out for a couple hours at a time (as measured by a cheap plastic watch). My father had been there, not to hide some incomprehensible weapon, but to protect a little part of his legacy. Maybe he would even have brought me someday, if he had the chance.

Instead, I sketched the school and the trees beyond (Rachel told me that Naomi was very pleased), and other trees seen only in memories that were not mine. Towering Guide Trees, plants in zero-gravity, what I could only imagine _kafits_ would see from the red and gold skies. These, of course, Rachel had to keep for herself.

“Three minutes left,” she said, “finish up.”

I hurriedly peppered the grass with tiny little dots. “ _Hoober_ bugs,” I explained, and demorphed while she grinned and stowed the picture.

“Thank you,” she said.

<Thank _you_ for today. This was great. >

“My pleasure. As always.”

<I—I've been thinking some more. About Elfangor.>

“What's new,” she smiled.

<He...he needed the morphing power, to fight the war. Being here, being a human _nothlit_ , he couldn't—have done any of the things that he did later, without the Ellimist stepping in for him.>

“Kind of like he did for you?”

<Well... _kind_ of. I still _fought_ , the best I could—>

“Slashing at Hork-Bajir, scouting things out, you helped a lot. Don't sell yourself short.”

<Maybe not on the same terms, but okay. The Ellimist giving me the morphing power back, it let me fight alongside you and everyone else—and it also gives me the chance to be human again with you.>

“Yeah?”

She wasn't arguing, trying to push me one way or another, just listening, and sometimes that was all the strength I needed to keep going. <Temporarily _or_ permanently. And—it would be one thing if I was the only one, if this was just one little fluke in the big game of the universe. Save Jara and Ket, get my human life back. But it's not that easy. If not even _he_ got to use this power, to escape from the fight—after all he'd been through—who am I? >

“Who are you?” Rachel echoed. The words sounded more real in her voice, not just trapped between our minds. She reached back for her purse, and pulled out my little sketches. “You're someone who still chooses to make things like this, even in the middle of a war. But put your initials in the corners, if that helps.”

<I don't have the best handwriting at present.>

“I know. It's not fair, what the war's done to you, to him, to any of us—to people we'll never meet. Who catches a break, who doesn't—I'd love to protect you, but you have your own idea of duty, I guess, and...”

<We wouldn't have it any other way.>

“Not yet.”

<I can only give you one day at a time, one hour, I guess. But I think that's all you could ask for, war or no war.>

“Well. I could ask for a kiss.”

<I mean, sure,> I said, landing on the ground to demorph.

“Hold on,” she said. “I mean—no one's watching, right? You feel comfortable morphing?”

<Of course.>

“Would you—not for a mission or anything, it doesn't have to be now—ever want to morph Ax again? Just to—you know.”

<Touch cheeks?>

“Maybe it's memory overload. I don't know, I think it'd be hot.”

<Let's see,> I said, backing a few steps into the woods just in case. But we'd been vigilant every time we'd come out. There was no one in sight, human or bird alike.

I felt my body grow in every direction; stalk eyes and a tail blossomed, and after I'd gotten my balance, the return of the curious, welcome Andalite optimism. The emotion felt familiar, half-reflected in all the stored memories. Even those on the brink of death had been laden with some measure of hope for our planet, after all.

Then there was something new: Rachel's touch, gently rubbing at my cheeks. “Ooh, that tickles,” she laughed. “I mean, sorry, is that?”

<No, it's—it's really good.>

“Okay. Here, hold on.” She reached for her purse, and passed me the little watch. Of course, we wouldn't stay long so near the building, but even the low-tech human device felt like a talisman. “And you have to initial this.”

I took the pencil back, and initialed the drawing. One more piece of a legacy, come what may. <Man, these arms really are weak.>

“Mine aren't,” she teased, and reached up through the forest.


End file.
